


Phases of the Sky

by Pinnacle of Failure (Cromirn)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gen, Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cromirn/pseuds/Pinnacle%20of%20Failure
Summary: "I want to see the world burn and do it again myself, how hard can that be?" Killing someone is easier than she expected, and so is tearing down villages and burning countries. She doesn't like sticking to the script, so this is her own story from the beginning to the end.





	1. Renewal

There are many things that are contemplated in life, a lot of it has to do with the future and the past. Few people actively think about the present. 

Now, she can understand why so many people would want to think about their future; it’s a really important factor they need to know about. She can also understand why they would want to remember the past; she’s done a lot of shit that she shouldn’t have done in her life. 

The present is a gift that is taken granted too often and too long. There are so many things people miss out on, simple things that can change how they live their or how they view their life. She doesn’t understand why people would want to miss out on hearing the birds sing in the morning, the sun just a red dot in the sky as it hangs low in the sky and dew still clinging to the emerald grass.

But… she knew she didn’t wake up one morning. There were no alarms to wake her up, there were no birds, no sun. Only silence.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, the one that made people go crazy, the one where you could only hear your breathing and the blood rushing around your head. It was the kind of silence where you could still hear the leaves against each other at night, where you knew where you were by the soft call of the wind. 

She isn’t in her room. She isn’t in her home. She doesn’t know where she is.

The thick fog catches at the back of her throat as she breathes in, but she feels that she shouldn’t be breathing. There is no ache in her chest as she holds her breath, there's no pain behind her eyes after a minute. There’s nothing here but emptiness.  
There is no grass here, only trees, trees, and some shrubs. They’re all dead, rotting away. The white bark is smooth against her fingers, but it’s weak and chips away as she digs her fingernails underneath.

There’s no pain here. Only nothing.

Her fingers bleed after that. Nothing stops it, her blood doesn’t clot after some time and she doesn’t bother covering it up.

There is no sky above her, only the web of dead branches and more above that. The fog lays heavier here, and now she can’t see her once bare feet. Dead shrubs turn into nothing after a while, and nothing turns into thorns, bristles, and heather. They brush against her legs, but she can’t feel it. Needles tear their way into her flesh and she bleeds more. Her blood doesn’t clot.

She feels like she took too many of those meds that calm you down. The trees are too white, the soil underneath her looks dried and coarse, and there is no end to this. It’s quiet, and she likes it. Likes it enough that she leans against a tree that creaks underneath her weight and closes her eyes.

~~~~

She is not as calm when she opens her eyes. 

The sky is bright above her, but it’s not day. Purples and oranges dance across the sky, and the stars freckles against that. There’s a hint of blue behind the purple, and she spots a large cloud of red behind that, blending in with the orange. There is no fog here, the grass is wet underneath her hands and she can smell some sort of sweet flower.

Lifting her head, she notices that she’s in the middle of a field, and there’s a statue not twenty feet away from her backed by a large tree. Said statue is… unique, to say the least, the figure bent over, one arm lost to the robes and another reaching out to the side where it looks like it once held a cane or stick of some sort. It doesn’t look like it’s made of marble, or even stone or metal, but she has an untrained eye for physical art so she shouldn’t be saying anything.

Getting the rest of her body off the ground is harder than she thought, her hands are heavy and arms heavier. But she has to get up. She needs to get up. Something at the back of her head finally speaks up, voice louder than the ambiance surrounding her, louder than her own. It echoes in her ears before she raises a hand to her face, but her hand’s stopped by a weightless mask.

Her mind wants her to push it off of her face, but her fingers betray her and begin to card themselves into the long grass and she’s reminded of the dark and dead place of before. Where is she now, she wonders.

She can smell the dew on the wilting grass, and there’s a hint of something soft like flowers or that weird scent fruit trees have after it rains. Something pushes her to stand. It’s an idea in her head, and now it’s become reality.

The statue now cradles something between two hands. She wants to believe that it’s a different statue, that she’s looking in the wrong direction, but this time she knows that this is the only one here. 

“Why am I here.”

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can process what they mean. And in turn, something responds.

“To see failure.”

It’s a whisper on the wind, brushing past her ear and echoing in her skull. There is nothing here, but yet there is this. 

“Failure is a broad term. What failure.”

“To fly with brethren, yet fail them. To fly and push down to keep the wings gliding. To destroy what is known. To feel the skin underneath nail and nail underneath skin.”

There is no voice here beside her own, and yet this whisper sounds like hers and more. She can feel the distant rumble of a man in the whisper, voice catching onto her every nerve and yet there’s a soft harmony to it.

Her tongue moves on its own, and she can’t stop the dry cackle that leaves her throat. “To fly something has to fall. To fall something has to fly. Will I fly?”

“Failure is the only answer.”

“Failure means I was trusted. Will I be trusted?”

“Trusted with the life that was once yours. Trusted with knowledge, with destiny.”

The voices are no louder than before, but she can taste that something's different. 

“Why am I here?”

“Born again.”

~~~

She is born again. There is no pain, no light, and nothing to feed her mentality. She is born again, and she can’t think of a worse situation that could have happened to her.

There are multiples of her now; more than she’d liked to care. Her limbs are stiff and meaty, it takes her too much energy to even move something, to lift a finger. She can’t see, but she waits the day she can. Her tongue rests oddly in her mouth, and like her limbs it takes too much out of her to move. Hearing things are even worse, and she figured that something has to be right next to her ear in order for her to actually hear it otherwise it’ll come out like a shitty recording done outside on a windy day; the pushing of the wind strong against her eardrums and anything anyone says is really muffled.

She is so confused. 

There is no singular body, there is no solid ground beneath her flesh and there’s no true concept of feeling or pain. She’s just… there.

Between names and between flesh, she is no more than what she was. A human. Her heart still beats in her chest yet she can taste the death at the back of her throat, the musky thing never really on her tongue yet never in her mouth. All of her bodies have the same taste. 

Months have already gone by, she can crawl. Her senses are shit, and she has to rely on many things to tell her the truth. Her parents push her--them--to start walking almost as soon as they start crawling. 

It’s hard for her to try and do these things on her own, usually being pushed away from one child and into another before she can gauge their actions. It’s rough, although she proves damn excellent at dodging things.

Well, even if it hurts a little.

At a year and a half they’re able to pick up phrases their parents say. They can walk now, and are just getting the hang of balancing and running.

The most concerning part to her is how their parents push the little nuggets. They award them well when done something well, but she knows that something’s wrong. The way they look at them, the soft rhythms of their energy and the gentle push for them to do something way out of their league.

They’re two when handed a blade. 

“Safe,” their parents say, or at least that’s what the children understand. They want to be safe. Who doesn’t.

The well-rusted metal calls to one, Moriko she thinks her name is. The blade disgusts Rinji, the only boy out of the quadruplets. The other two can’t bring themselves to care. Or, they’re like their shared soul. 

She knows this is wrong, but they don’t. Asami and Asuka takes her displeasure as impassiveness, and Rinji takes it like she is. Moriko doesn’t understand what's wrong, but she likes the way the chipped blade looks in her tiny tiny hands. 

Moriko is the least favorite of her bodies.

“Kunai,” their parents repeat, and they say it. Kunai, she knows she has heard that before.

Days later they’re introduced to sticks. “Escrima sticks,” they call it. She knows this one too, but on a more personal level.

Asami likes this one. The way her body flows with the beat of the sticks, and their parents look at her with a pleased smile.

Rinji likes them as well, but he fears the pain if he’s hit. They don’t like it, but they show him how to defend himself from his sisters with the kunai, which is held softly in his hands.

The other two, Moriko and Asuka, are indifferent to the sticks, but they still learn. Asuka loves the knowledge that she is offered, yet Moriko loves the snap that it offers her.

Then they’re taught about their chakra, the thing that keeps them alive, the thing that beats under their skin every moment. They take it in stride, ignoring their inner sense to stop, wait, please don’t do this I never wanted this.

They don’t listen to their shared soul, though, but now it’s easier for her to seep into their being, taking over their motions and not just their thoughts and desires.

She knows where she is now. She doesn’t know where, but she knows.

Asuka, one day, brings home a rabbit. Their parents encourage her to press her worn kunai to it, wiping away her tears as they have her push the blade into the neck of the poor thing. It kicks and it squeals screams and bites, and the blood squirts everywhere and Asuka only cries harder as the burning liquid stains her nice clothes, but she’s calmed down quickly by the voices. 

They are new, and not like that one who doesn’t like the sharp things and doesn’t like their parents. She doesn’t know what they say to her, but she knows that they mean well. 

Her actions only push their parents to make the other three kill something. They all remember how Asami sobbed as she held a kunai in her hand, and is presented a squirrel. They all remember the red that splatters on their hand.

After the last child had killed something, they’re taught how to fight hand-to-hand. “Taijutsu,” their parents say, their black eyes narrow as they teach them, snapping at Rinji to move his feet further and Moriko to keep her hands up and Asami keep your head held high.

Weeks after that incident, they’re given flutes. Well, something like that. It’s been so long for her that she can’t remember what it is, exactly. Their parents makes them work harder with their flutes than they do their weapons, and she doesn’t know what to think about it.

They’re three when they go to the academy, so they can get stronger and smarter. She doesn’t like that they’re three and already learning to fight, but what can she do. Her control over their small bodies is becoming limited, even when she has more control over Asami than Rinji and the rest.

They cry the first day, but only minutes later they’re calmed down by the voices. They know the others can’t hear what the voices say, like how they don’t understand, but they know that they’re calm after they cry. 

They’re three when Asami fights someone, an older girl. The voices tell her to make the girl stop, because no one bullies her sisters. Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re weak, and just because they’re young doesn’t mean they’re stupid.

Asami bites at the girl, ignoring the screams and the hollers. Someone pulls her away, she can feel their bruising grip on her shoulders, but she holds tight. The girl is pulled with her, and her flesh tears and she bleeds. The hot blood coats Asami’s mouth and she doesn’t let go yet. 

The girl tries to attack Asami, an elbow to the head or throat, but Asuka joins the fray, clawing at her eyes and jabbing a small finger into one. 

The voices are quiet, but Moriko can hear a singular hum at the base of her ear.

They’re told that they’re too big now for that class, after the fight. They don’t know what happens to the girl they bit and poked, clawed and tore at.

In that class they expand their knowledge of the land they live in, and the nations around them. They’re told that they’re at war, and that they might fight if they’re strong.

Their teacher doesn’t like them for that year, and never lets them sit next to each other. They don’t like it, but they manage to make him pay. Well, Asuka does, anyway. 

She puts breaks the legs of his chairs, so that every time he sits down his chair breaks. Or she introduces his scent to the local wild dogs, so that every time he leaves the school grounds he’s attacked. The dogs are killed not so long afterward, but they come back like they always do.

They’re almost four when they’re introduced to a jutsu. They’re not taught by the school yet, but this one is special. Mother makes the copy the way she holds her hands together, and she makes them memorize the different signs. All forty-two of them.

Rat. Boar. Ram.

Those are the ones that their mother says they have to remember, because it will lead into some pretty cool stuff. She doesn’t want them actually doing the jutsu, more in preparing themselves for it. She mentions something about it being a higher level jutsu, but the children ignore her words, because they’ll be learning something new and cool.

Their father wants them to learn the jutsu as soon as possible, but their mother relents against his wishes; claiming that it will only hurt them in the end.

The children don’t understand what they mean, so they do as they’re told. 

Rinji lags behind with the chakra exercises, while Asuka prevails against her other sisters. He doesn’t like it, and the girls don’t understand what's wrong with the brother, but they try and encourage him using the mixed phrases the voices in their little heads tell them. It’s a hard life, trying to please their parents and their teachers and that one voice, but it’s alright. It’s always going to be alright.

It’s months before their fifth birthday. 

They’re handed a long piece of paper and told to mimic their father. They’re good at that. Mimicking. 

Each other, at least. And one of them thinks that it’s a good thing that their skills are so different. She doesn’t know what it means, but that doesn’t matter.

Their father teaches them how to seal something inside the paper, shows them the markings and has them memorize it. He’s a stickler about it, makes them make their own seals at least a few times a day and then makes them take it out, tear the paper and start all over again.

Asami is the better one, but Asuka is a quick learner.

They still learn new weapons, or at least learn new techniques or methods in handling the ones they already know. Moriko likes the new blades, Asami like the old ones. Rinji is stuck hating them all, and hating the pain and the looks their parents give him. Asuka just loves the knowledge.

On their fifth birthday they’re told that they’re going to learn their first jutsu. It’s hard work, but they make it happen. The flames are small, and they lick against their cheeks and burn their lips, but they’re beautiful in the way that pain makes some people happy. 

The colors aren’t right. They never were right, but it bothers their parents greatly. “Fire is orange,” They tell the children, who happily sit with burnt faces and bleeding lips, “Not green or blue or red.”

“Sometimes it’s blue or red,” their father adds, “But that is very rare. Green is caused by an imbalance of chemicals, and it’s not natural. It’s never natural.”

The colors changes between the children. One day Rinji will have green flames fall from his mouth, and the next it will be Asami. They don’t know what’s wrong, but their parents still teaches them more jutsus after that.

Father still teaches them more about fuuinjutsu, and shows them how to paint themselves for something special. He teaches them about theories their little minds can’t handle, but they make sure to remember his words. He shows them what it’s like to seal large items, how much more paper they’ll need and how much the ink will react when it refuses to take an item. 

He tells them how to seal weapons with a punch. When unraveled the weapons will fly out as if thrown, and he shows them how to make explosion tags and adds them to the equation. 

With burnt and bloody lips, their fingers start to callous with scars. Their given ointment to help ease the pain, but sometimes they forget about it, the pain already gone by the time they’re given the concoction.

The academy is no different. They still learn things, like how to climb walls without the use of their hands. They learn how to walk on water and Asuka's so good that she can roll around on the water without falling.

They have a new sensei this year, and they like him better. He gives them treats when they do something good and he always compliments their techniques and their forms. He teaches them better too, so they get awarded more often. 

They are six when they’re drafted for the war.

They can’t see their mother or father anymore. They can’t see friends, and sometimes themselves. They lose themselves in each other when they are divided, forgetting their names and what they know when they sleep.

Rinji gets sick when he sees blood. Nobody likes him in their squad, but they are nice enough to not pick on him. He is taught by an older woman how to heal, or at least she theorizes how it’s done. 

Moriko and Asami get stuck together, but they do not realize until their squad has a meeting. They do not let go of the other the moment their bodies drag them together.

Asuka is in a demolitions battalion, mostly made of adults. She’s the youngest to be there, and they treat her like some sort of exotic pet. 

The older people, the ones worn by war and death and blood, tell stories of battles gone wrong, because that’s the only way you will die. Nothing good comes out of something wrong. And they make sure the newcomers know that.

The first to kill is Asuka, who is told to end a sick man. He wasn’t even awake. She is scared, and she trembles after that. Her lips are chapped; not by the fire jutsu but by the force she bites them with, with how often she licks them in worry or because the air is so dry.

They give her sweets, telling her that things will only get worse. It doesn’t help, but she appreciates it some.

She wants to hear the voices in her head, for them to sing her to sleep like they used to, but they are quiet, and she cries at night.

Her first battle is brutal, a mark now curving around her eye and splits when it reaches her brow. More scatter across her arms and back, but they tell her that if something doesn’t stop bleeding after a few minutes that she should see someone about it. They don’t have anyone who knows how to heal.

Moriko and Asami are not as bad as their sister. They fight, but they have each other. Asami is quick on her feet, and she makes sure that Moriko dodges what she can’t.

But that’s all in practice. They haven’t had a real battle, a real fight yet where there’s blood and bones and death.

They haven’t killed anyone yet. They haven’t seen anyone die yet.

Rinji doesn’t spar with his squad. They won’t let him, not after he threw up on one of the bleeding patients. He’s the most upset out of the quartet.

He is told that he won’t make it through their first battle, their first clash with whatever nation. Rinji believes that he will die his first battle, and he wants that to change.

The voices never speak, and the lonesome womans hums never purrs through their minds again.

It takes the destruction of five of the eight squadrons for them to meet again.

They are absorbed into Asuka's battalion, and the men and women there can’t remember who is who in the quartet. They remember Asuka from a scar on her face and the familiar way she walks, but other than that her siblings are a mystery to them. 

They are stationed somewhere between Iwagakure and Ishigakure. The harsh terrain is different than that of Kusagakure, where they come from. The battalion is mostly from Kusa, new faces bleeding in every day. The Kusa shinobi are weary around their new companions, and few make an effort to know them.

Asami has never been so hyped before. She knows that Asuka dreads the moment they have to battle, but the people here are so nice, one of them giving her a sweetened ration bar and agreed that fighting is hard but worth it in the end. She’s never seen Asuka hiss like that before.

They all can feel the impending headache, the worry and the fear, and they know they should stop now when they are not curled into themselves. 

She doesn’t speak as often as she used to, the voices. The quartet realized that the voices were more of a ‘she’ instead of a ‘they’ when she started to sing to them. Well, hum, but it’s close enough.

It takes the battalion three days to get through Ishigakure. The children ride off the backs of people far faster than them, and ask them as many questions as they can Only one of the adults answer happily, and that is Asuka's bunkmate.

Inemi is a strong woman, and she adores Asuka like her own child. She was there when the child had her first kill, her first battle, and now she’s here for Asuka's siblings. Inemi teaches what she can to the younger shinobi, in a hope that they will not die too soon.

She also teaches Asuka's more Fire Release jutsu’s, something Asami and Moriko and Rinji are jealous of. They’re stuck with what their parents taught them, and Asuka knows how to create demonic lanterns or whatever.

Asami is not stupid. She knows that Asuka is different now, despite how they treat her like nothing has changed since they left mama and papa. She knows that Asuka has always had a problem with caring, but she cared about them enough that they never had a second thought about it.

Out of all of them, Asuka was the one more prepared. She knew more, had more experience. 

The battle doesn’t start the way she thought it would. Something whistles, and someone twenty feet down from her collapses. The steel against leather as people unsheath their weapons is deafening, blinds her and she’s thrown from a monster. 

People start whooping like a bunch of animals, and she can’t tell which side is making the noises. There’s a clank clank clank to her right and she doesn’t want to move, but something pushes her again as a brown chamber wheezes by, chest-exposing its hollow insides and too many arms wielding too many weapons and trying to shove Kusa and Iwa shinobi alike inside.

Someone lets off a fire jutsu somewhere behind her, and she doesn’t realize that she pulls out a kunai. Or maybe it was shoved in her hand, she doesn’t know. 

Asami looks for a familiar face, but nothing is familiar when they all become monsters. Faces are pulled back into snarls, hair is flying and so is blood and even arms and heads.

Her head swivels, and someone is behind her and she swipes her weapon haphazardly, confused and shaking. 

Something cracks in the background, and a blaze of furious red races past her. Her hair burns, crisp and her lips are dry and cracked. She pushed, and thrown into a fight and screeches.

Her mouth is wide open, choking on ash and fear, but she still screams. There’s blood on her face, on her hands and in her mouth. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from, and she wants to go home.

Her body is no longer hers.

It’s like looking through a window, watching her hands grip at the old kunai and swing it like she actually knows how to use it. She can feel the sweat that coats her arms, and the grim that collects underneath her fingernails, but she can’t control it. She can’t move. She can’t move.

Her fingers drop the kunai, and hands press into an unfamiliar sequence of seals, and she can taste the chakra leave her body. Her tongue clings to the roof of her mouth, and her eyes want to close. She doesn’t, though, her body moves on its own and her eyes are wide open, taking in everything yet nothing.

Everything is muffled, she’s sure someone is screaming but it could be her, she doesn’t know. She’s bleeding. She’s making someone else bleed. 

This is bad. It’s wrong. Very wrong. Why is she doing this. She wants to go home. She needs to go home. 

But where is home. Where is her mother and her father. Where are her sisters and brother.

Something clicks by her ear, and there’s a flash of white pain. Her body spasm, her hands tremble, and her legs give out. 

Silver teeth snap by her face, and a hand far too long to be human presses down on her skull. Red, then pink. Some sort of animalistic cry calls out from somewhere.

Blackness.


	2. Experience

They don’t pause for a funeral. They keep going, and going, and going.

Rinji is so tired. He wants to lay down and never have to get up. For the first time in a long while, he can feel the whispers. They’re too faint, but he still hears them. 

They give him hope, more hope than Moriko and Asuka. More hope than his growing support in the battalion.

He is six, and he knows too much. 

He shouldn’t know how to kill a man.

He shouldn’t know how to burn the children.

He is six, and he knows this war ends with a fallen bridge and too many lost lives.

No one sees him like they used to. He is now scared like Asuka, he has bleed and sweat and bit and scratched like she has, and he doesn’t like it.

Rinji doesn’t want to be Asuka, because that is not how it works. He doesn’t want to be Moriko, because she is too rough with her own body and doesn’t see it. He doesn’t want to be Asuka because she is too smart and too calm and too angry and too much like the flames that licked at Asami’s body.

He is not his sisters.

He is not a monster.

The death of Asami has left a bitter taste in the battalion. The boy’s depression makes things worse, and so does the girls erratic behaviors, but they function as they should.

A week after her death they are told that they will head back to Kusagakure. It’s just to restock, and everyone knows it’s because of the ambush. Because they were taken by surprise.

Because they were weak.

Moriko has never been weak. She’s always been the strongest one. Stronger than Asuka, Rinji. Asami was fast, but her fear made her slow and Moriko makes it a point to push down her fear like Asuka.

Asuka may be weaker than Moriko, but she is smart. She is smart and she is fearless of death and blood and far, far more than that.

The only thing Moriko has to fear is not fear itself, but Asuka. Asuka is cunning on the battlefield, they say. She has always been smart, but she is not smart when there is chaos; and the chaos only feeds her in ways that Moriko does not want to think about.

They tell her that her only sister now is the greatest mimic in the whole of Kusa--claiming that she learned how to use Suna’s very own special jutsu in the midst of the clash, dragging away those wooden monsters without having to touch them and tearing them apart with her tiny tiny fingers.

Soon, she could be worthy enough to be a genin.

That was Moriko’s only wish, to be a genin. But Kusa’s laws are finicky on what becomes genin and what becomes fodder. 

Technically, they are civilians.

They are told this by Asuka's self-declared sensei, Inemi. She is strong as she is smart, and Moriko wants to be just like her.

Asuka doesn’t say she’ll let her join their training. Asuka doesn’t say much these days, offering a small smile and a curt nod when someone starts a conversation with her and always managing to keep them short.

Home is different. Trees are missing and so are people. It’s… empty. Too empty.

The parents take them in with empty eyes, and they don’t accept hugs anymore. They don’t… they don’t seem like themselves.

“Gather your scrolls. I have something to show you.” Their father starts, voice almost like their leading commander and they straighten their backs and lock eyes on him.

He shows them the language of fuuinjutsu, how to make syntax’s and algorithms, how to make one thing mean another to turn an explosive tag to a flash tag, or dance with their scrolls. He shows them how to be fast, and he only pushes them further and further. He shows them unique styles of fuuinjutsu, how those of the once Uzushio keeps theirs in tight circles or another keeps their compacted and bleeding. He takes what they once knew and expanded on that.

He shows them how to keep their ink in themselves. He tattoos them, and shows them how to use their new pocket dimensions. He gives them to their mother, who shows them how to make their new tattoos pretty, how to mold the ink into something beautiful while keeping the paths where they were placed.

They only spend a week in Kusagakure, and they’re back to the front lines. Closer to the frontlines.

Father leaves them with books. Too many books, the type of books that weigh more than them and some more and the ones where they need help reading.

Of course, Inemi helps Asuka. She’s offered to help them all, but Rinji isn’t interested in fuuinjutsu as he once was, and Moriko finds training with something she can hold proves to be more valuable than learning another language.

Asuka doesn’t understand why her siblings don’t want to know more fuuinjutsu. She can do so much now; hold more weapons, use tags against her enemies, keep them warm with an altered fire tag, she can now make paper lanterns without the use of literal fire.

Her imagination keeps her up at night.

There is one point in the book where it mentions something about inanimate animation, that it’s less than fuuinjutsu and more of a physical thing. The book doesn’t delve into it as much as she’d like, and she bothers Inemi until the kind woman gives up.

“It’s something those Suna Shinobi use.” She starts, eyes closed and hands tucked in her flack jacket, “I don’t know much on it, or any at all, but I know that I see them use it at every chance they get. The next time we see Suna again I’ll make sure to watch closely, I know you’re good at imitation, but you shouldn’t be doing that with jutsu’s.”

“Then why does the book mention it if it isn’t fuuinjutsu?” Asuka asks, her voice high and curious.

Inemi sighs. “You’ll have to look that one up, honey, I don’t know as much as you think I do.”

They leave it like that. Asuka continues reading, asking Inemi what this one word means, or if the definition changes when its used like this.

When they move, they no longer carry the children. They show them how to hold themselves to any solid thing, and how to jump off of it. No one shows a better aptitude for this kind of control than Asuka, her use of fuuinjutsu paying off in the end. This doesn’t bother the other two, but they do push themselves to be better than her, to go further move faster.

Asuka's stocks in tags and scrolls do more than that, though, and she promptly starts a miniature business in her battalion. She doesn’t get money, but she does get more weapons than she needs, and more than enough medical supplies and more scrolls for some low-level jutsu’s.

While she’s taking all of this in stride, her only sister seeks out as many teachers as she can. Moriko manages with this task with a little too much on her mind, but she improves. Moriko doesn’t move fast like Asuka, but she knows Asuka has her own ways. 

They’re somewhere near Yugakure, or that’s what the adults say. They know they rest on unclaimed land, Land of Rice they call it, and they are all very weary. They intent to intercept a team of Kumogakure Shinobi.

No one wants to fight, no one wants to do what they do. 

Of course, there are those few who… are not right in the head. They crave the fight.

The children don’t interact with those kinds of people, though. Or, they hope. Sometimes they can be normal in such a domestic setting.

They encounter the Kumo patrol, a small section of the battalion. It starts off tense, everyone reluctant to make the first move.

Then, there is a whistle and a thump. Something fizzles about fifteen feet west of the Kusa Shinobi and then boom, white and cold and disorienting. The shinobi are blinded, and some don’t get to open their eyes again. They scatter, blades out and ready to throw.

In the midst of it all, Moriko scowls and growls, her eyes blotchy and flickering black and white after that flash-bang. Her hold on the hilt of her tanto is tight, white-knuckling, and she can feel her untrimmed nails bite into her palms.

One man approaches her, and he’s down before he hits the ground, and this time she lunges at another already in a clash with one of her own. Her tanto is a mere silver flash in the day, and nothing seems to get past her sharp eyes.

Kunai and shuriken and more are thrown at her, and only a fraction of them snag at her clothes and even less her flesh. But she can’t feel them, only the prevailing ice that holds her finger tips and frosts at her lips.

There’s a shout, and then she’s tossed aside. Head hits something hard, and eyes cross. An elbows is dug underneath her ribs and she loses her breath for too long.

Her hand grapples out like she lost all sense of muscle, and her body is taken away from an impending kunai as she is pulled from the momentum of another shinobi. The man happens to be from Kumo, and she takes care to make sure his throat is never the same.

Something wraps around her waist, and constricts, and she’s pulled back again. This time she doesn’t have time to prepare and her head snaps where it shouldn’t. Her brain feels like mush, and she is too slow to stop the gleaming tanto-

But he is taken down by her own. Asuka or Rinji, she doesn’t know, even Asami would have been good for Moriko at this moment.

She barely notices the tag that her sibling slips in his collar, and Asuka grabs her by the roots of her hair to tug her back from the explosion.

The mans screams are cut short as the thing tears his neck apart, and burns the rest of him away. Asuka doesn’t stay long, only shoving Moriko away as she takes on another Kumo Shinobi, a bloodied tanto in her own hands.

It ends like that. She is alone in the battlefield, and Asuka loots the bodies of anything worthy of her attention. Rinji helps bandage the wounded living and cut the occasional limb. She… well, she sits and watches. The others do what her siblings do, and then more.

There’s still some alive, she remembers, some sob for mercy while other snarl and keep fighting.

It’s… anticlimactical. 

She never gave the after a thought when she fought. She never really thought about the specifics in a fight, once it was done. She only thought about the during, the dodge and the stab the slice the safe.

Inemi reminds them that they are in Yu. Inemi reminds them where they are, and they they should always be weary about their surroundings because no matter what they do they’ll always be in danger.

That they will always be weak.

Asuka is indifferent to what her teacher says, confident in her skills as a pseudo-shinobi. Rinji doesn’t like Inemi, but he never has liked her to begin with.

They sleep for too long then on, exhaustion eating at their bones and nipping at their flesh. The older people don’t like it, and they get rough after a while. Moriko and Rinji take the blunt end of it, not knowing what to do when they come around.

Asuka on the other hand… she is not right. She is too unpredictable, and the end results are always different no matter how similar her methods are. Once, she bit a man when he grasped at her hair, slapping a modified tag on him that tazed him and gave him a concussion. Maybe it was her tag, or maybe it was when he fell that gave him that concussion, but it doesn’t matter. She did what she did, and now she has that on her record.

The adults tell them that everything they do is written down by this man, and this man determines whether or not they can receive their headband, the thing that determines the quality of their skill and their determination towards their craft.

Weeks go by, they improve and they get stronger, faster, and creative. Once, between that time and now the battalion was intercepted, but they were not in the units that fought back.

Moriko wakes up one day, and she wants to do something that she knows is unusual. She knows everyone else avoids doing this, but it's worth a try. It's better than if she didn't at least try.

The sun won't be up until a few more hours, and she scourges underneath large and small trees, digging her hands around the damp soil. It collects underneath her nails and buries itself deep into the creases of her hand, but this is for the sake of knowledge. This is for the sake that she could be better, be stronger. Deadlier.

Soon enough she finds a prize, scales slick in the morning dew and maw open wide. It hisses and wrangles in her tight grip just below its jaw, but every lash of its tail on her arm is a blessing. The snake doesn't live long in her grip, some extra pressure on its windpipe breaking the neck and leaving it limp and heavier than when it was still living.

She smiles for the first time in a long while. Her trek back to camp is not as eventful as the capture, but she revels in the memories and she wonders how she will apply this to her fighting, if it's possible the poison would affect the metal a certain way or vice versa.

Inemi is crouching in front of a small flame when Moriko comes back. She eyes the snake wearily and snickers.

"So I see you've found a breach." She says, sniffling, "It's a good idea to throw those bodies away, the poison flows pretty deep within those kind."

Moriko doesn't answer at first, her eyes narrowing slowly at the woman. "What do you mean."

"Those are one of the sannin's summons, be thankful it's not a frog because that would mean more trouble for us."

"What do you mean by that?"

"If that thing-" she gestures to the snake"-was a frog, the summoner would be Jiraiya, one of the sennin, who has ties to Konoha and the entirety of Fire Country. While what you've got there is a snake, who is from Orochimaru. He's just as dangerous as his counterpart, but he is a missing-nin and has no reason to exploit us. Maybe he does, but who knows. I know that we're supposed to keep an eye out for frogs, not snakes."

Moriko sniffles. "So... can I use it or no?"

"Probably, just keep in mind that the sennin make sure the lower summons are highly volatile. Its blood is probably as poisonous as its fangs or maybe it will explode when you cut it open," Inemi shrugs lightly, turning back to face the flames fully, "or maybe nothing will happen at all. It might not even be the sannin's summons either and I'm just talking to you because you never let me."

"I don't like you," She says, because it's true. She wants what ASuka has, that fact is undeniable, and she knows that her dislikement towards Inemi is irrational but it's something for her to do. Something for her to test.

“Good luck, then,” Inemi responds with the wave of a hand, returning to her flames.

~~~

There are no stars tonight, but every now and then the clouds are illuminated by the streaks of light. The rumbles encourage some of the older people to cover their ears, cry or flee, but Asuka is content with the noise.

Some deep, dark part of her wants to go closer to the clouds, to feel them and to fly in the sparks.

No one reallys gets any sleep, some don’t try and others quit after an hour or so. She never intended to sleep much that night, drowning in her scrolls and books and knowledge. She likes this feeling, this productivity and this effort she puts in herself and her craft.

With the knowledge that she is being watched she feels she has to be better. To get better and to be on top.

To be what she used to be.

Syntaxes are hard to work with, but she practices the most common ones she knows. Sealing scrolls of all sizes clutter her room, some more complex than others yet she makes it all work. Her pocket dimension imbedded in her flesh has left her skin, but its presence is still there, glowing the most demonic green when she activates it.

She uses it to hold what she doesn’t use, scrolls within scrolls are placed in there, as well as weapons of all sorts. Most of them she doesn't know how to use, and others she is still too small to carry. 

Her tattoo is just a small thing, right on the crease where her palm dips and folds. She remembers how expansive the original ink was, her small body almost being taken by the dark lines. She wants to know how her father did that, she wants to know if there’s more she could do, if it requires chakra to be placed in the ink before or after being applied, whether or not she and her small body could handle another tattoo. Those kinds of things.

Paper rustles a little, and her dark eyes graze over familiar words. She doesn’t know how to write in her native tongue yet, but she’s getting closer and closer to it, the syntax similar to the ones of fuuinjutsu. 

Some part of her questions why her fuuinjutsu leesons prevailed over her literacy, but that voice has grown small over the weeks, insignificant in her long streak of reading and sealing.

The cloth that divides her from the rest of her battalion is lifted quietly, the soft rustle almost silent in the boom of the thunder. She drops her brush and turns to face Inemi.

“You sister is quite the thing, you know,” Inemi starts, and drops down in her own little makeshift bed. “Killed a familiar, smelt like it came from a pretty powerful summoner too. I told her about the sennin, she didn’t really listen.”

Asuka hums and returns to her work, dipping her brush in the ink again, “That sounds like Moriko.”

Inemi scoffs. “She’s becoming more like you, you know.”

“We’re six, it’s bound to happen.”

“But not like this. You’re dedicated to your art, and I understand why, but you need a real hobby.”

Asuka grunts out a response, her attention taken away by her paper for a small moment.

“-but I can actually help you there. They won’t mind if you’re not kin, but they would be more accepting if I adopt you or took you as an official apprentice.”

“What?” Asuka hums, turning around to face Inemi again.

“My summons, the thing I am bound by.” She says it as if Asuka was listening to her.

“I wasn’t listening to you, I’m trying something different with this seal and I stop paying attention,” Asuka clarifies, almost embarrassed by her confession.

Inemi heaves out a loud sigh, “You need to do something that will give back to you. Like a pet, maybe, or a plant. I know, I know , we’re in war and all, but I figured that instead of a pet or a plant you could use a contract. Something to help you along the way, y’know?”

Asuka blinks slowly. “No, not really.”

Inemi shifts in her seat, “I have a seal for you.”

“Really?”

“No,” She answers, “But you’ll be given it when I die. The moment my heart stops beating you’re going to be my heir. I’ve already discussed this with Soramaro, and he’s fine with me taking an unblooded child due to my circumstances.”

Asuka tilts her head, “Circumstances?”

“Yeah, the war has left me barren,” Inemi says, “Lost all my special parts in a skirmish a few years back.”

“No, I mean what does it mean,” Asuka responds, and she drops her brush next to the unraveled scroll, “‘Circumstance’.”

“Oh,” This time Inemi blinks, “I, uh, don’t really know how to define it. Like, an event happened and something happened and that’s a circumstance? But I’m not kidding around, Asuka-chan, this is an option for you when you feel ready.”

Asuka hums, “When would I know that I’m ready?”

“Like, when you feel that you’re prepared to sign a contract. You’re strong enough, that’s for sure, but that isn’t the only thing that goes into something like this. The mental exhaustion is something that can be worse than physical or chakra exhaustion.”

“Ah.”

~~~

They are in Taki now. The battalion moves slower these days, a new order by their higher ups that they are taking a short break. Something like that, no one really listens outside of what they’re supposed to do.

Some of the soldiers feel better that they are only a border away from Kusa, but they are also weary of those who bring it up. Betrayal is not taken lightly in this particular group; they have shed blood for each other, and they will continue doing so until they die.  
Most don’t believe this war will ever go away.

Suicide is a common occurrence here. No one does anything, because they were weak anyway. They wouldn’t keep themselves alive in their room so who expects them to keep alive in the battlefield, who expects them to keep another alive in the battlefield.

Rinji knows this is wrong. He knows it’s wrong and he wants to do something about it. He can’t. He is six and his voice is too small to be heard above the thunders of feet and soil and voices.

“Got your gear?” Their main commander asks. He doesn’t look at them like they’re human, but he at least acknowledges them. 

Rinji spots one of his sisters tie her boots, her black uniform dusted with dirt. It’s probably Asuka; Moriko doesn’t have the kind of resources to buy something like that.

“We’ve found a splinter group of Konoha nin, we’re sure there are at least two Uchiha, so i hope all of you know how to dispel genjutsu.” The man takes a step back as he talks some more, “We suspect they are here for information, kill them if you must but I want as many captive.”

Most people nod, and others check their inventories. Some trade food rations for weapons, and others vise versa. The chatter is a low hum, and Rinji doesn’t bother checking his pouches. He is confident in himself, in his words and his fists. 

He is a lowly child, his name gives him nothing like he will give his name nothing. At least he knows that no one will notice him like they notice Asuka. She is strong, and she is smart and all of these things that moves too fast.

Their little splinter group is fast to approach the Konoha ninja, and Rinji can hear the whispers of Uchiha.

The clash is quick, little blood and only one death; pummeled by the blunt end of a rock that split his face in too many ways. The rest are kept in rusted chains, one of their long ranged fighters(the one with the kusarigama he remembers, the one who once caught his leg in a scrimish before) kept them all connected by his chains. 

Rinji didn’t even have to draw his kunai, the others adrenalized by the thought of a good fight. He’s been placed in one of those squadrons, it seems.

The prisoners don't do much to anyone. They try to plead their way out, some don't speak at all. Rinji tries to keep away from them at all times, the foreign nin leaving an impression that they know more than they let on. Or that they could escape any moment.

It's a bad thought for him, doubting his squadmates like this, but he can't help it. His gut sings to him, saying 'get out' and 'this isn't right'.

He tries to ignore it. Bishamon-sempai says that he shouldn't listen to his gut because it's full of food and food can lie. Rinji thinks that Bishamon-sempai has a bad gut.

There's an Uchiha like their squad leader said, but he doesn't look like much, his eyes as black as Asuka's and face as pale as Inemi's. He doesn't like the way his eyes look; all seeing and poised as if ready for a fight. His back is straight, and so is Rinji's. Rinji keeps his hand on his kunai, keeping it ready in case the Uchiha does something.

He’s glad that Asuka's not here. She’d steal his spotlight and leave him with nothing but anger and a new drive for vengeance. She had a talent doing that to people.

They spend two days like that. They watch over their new captives, and Rinji doesn’t have the authority to talk to any of them. He does enjoy looking at that Uchiha. Something tells him that he is important.

It whispers in his ears, and he becomes aggravated. He’s listening to it, but why does it have to say it at every drop of the hat? He knows what it wants now, what it desires and what it craves. His mortal body is not compatible for this voice, but that doesn’t stop it from taking the reins. It’s words are not right when it speaks, using his flesh as a suit to cover its inhumanity.

The thing says something to the Uchiha once. Rinji is too messed up to see any emotion on the Uchiha’s face, but he knows that the man feels something adrenalizing; whether it’s fear or excitement, he doesn't know. He knows that the Uchiha won’t talk to him again. He leaves it as it is.

The day is long, and he sleeps none that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come join the the place where i get most of my good ideas, Genjutsu Support Group


	3. Beginnings

“Hey,” Rinji smothers a scowl, and places a cute little smile over his face, “I- I heard that you know some iryo-ninjutsu. I want to- I need to learn from you, will you take me as your student? I promise I’ll be good, I’m a good listener and I won’t get in your way, I swear!”

Sometimes being six-and-a-half years old is a good thing.

Harukichi sighs, placing down the blade on the metal tray as he stops working on his patient, “Look, I know you love your sisters and all, especially with what happened to that one, but I’m booked, kid. Maybe ask me later, when I’m not working on anyone, and maybe hit up Asuka-chan for some of my medical texts. She should know where they are since she seems to steal them from me.” he then scoffs, “Like a block of wood genjutsu’d into lookin’ like a book would stop me, the brat.”

Rinji pulls a dejected face, then brightens, “I’ll meet you later then!” He declares and skulks away.

Of course Harukichi would know Asuka, being a part of the demolitions department ensured that her name was known, and even if he and Moriko had eventually become one in the same with Asuka after their initial separation how many months ago there was still a division between them and Asuka. He has heard one of the older people, one of the oldest in their squad, mention how her first kill had changed her, how it was normal, but not for her to change path so quickly, how obvious it was that the siblings never acted this way before.

Rinji fears the knowledge that others have over him, if they had that assessment in thought longer, he knows they could be knowledgeable on every facet of his being. It… It terrifies him.

But that should not stop him from protecting himself, making sure that even the most grievous of his wounds can be. Separating himself from his sisters is the best way to go, even if it means that he won’t become as strong as them in the shortest amount of time. In the long run, however, he knows that he will succeed. They will run head first into battle, whether be it fists of wits it doesn’t matter, and they will fall while he stands in the back and lets them be picked off.

He knows that he is being harsh on them, but it’s the only way he can think of himself surviving, of living long enough to make any sort of enjoyment in his life if this war ever gives up. The thing inside tells him that he is right about his desire for survival, but it whispers at night that he is too callous, taking too long of steps to his destination of safety.

It doesn’t know everything, the voice in his head. He trusts it, regardless, but he knows what is best for him.

~~~

“He seems to be in his own mind,” Akifumi mutters, “I think you should teach him some things and leave him like that.”

“Ah,” Harukichi sighs again, picking up his satchel and beings to clean up his belongings, “But if I do that he will begin to think that I know everything and that I’ll help him with anything he asks of me. Those children think all alike, and I’m not sure which is worse to be honest; Asuka’s blatant requests for straight information or Rinji’s obvious distaste for me and the craft he wants to learn more about.

Like, I can go on and on about Asuka-chan, but you’ve heard it all before. Her siblings on the other hand? I knew that we should have prepared for the messes they’ll cause us.”

Akifumi laughs, curling over on his side to slip out of the bloodied cot. “Yeah, kinda figured when S’ka-chan decided to learn more about the other sides techniques instead of their history, although I do see her gaining a small interest in the past. Or the motives of people, at least.”

Rolling his shoulders he grimaces, “Don’t get me started on Moriko, either. The mess that she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up like Asami sooner or later.”

“War, am I right?” Akifumi chortles. “Well, thanks for patching me up, I promise the next time I’ll be gentle with myself.”

“Yeah yeah, just get out already.”

~~~

Moriko sits at the bay of the camp, eyes keen on the small movements of the thin tree lining. Yugakure doesn’t have as many trees as Kusagakure, but that doesn’t mean she won’t miss them. Yes, they provide a nice, large expanse of area to train with various weapons, jutsu’s, and other, miscellaneous things, but she likes that she doesn’t have to send slithers of chakra to scope out potential enemies.

Maybe she is lazy, maybe she is uncaring for her home village, yet there is this need for her to be not like everyone else. The jingoism everyone holds--or seems to hold--takes them from the true meaning of this war: intolerance, maybe the need of land, trade routes, maybe it’s a pissing contest to see who’s got the flashiest fighters growing in their ranks. Maybe it is none of them, and she is a small child fighting a war with no end.

She is not a child, not with what she hears day in and day out, not with the voices in the back of her mind screaming nonsense and pointless ideologies. If only she were grown like she once was, then maybe people will take her seriously, aknowledge what she is doing is for her own survival and the survival of her unit. She is not a child, yet the flesh she harbors in is proof enough that what she is is a mere lie to escape this impossible reality she has been forced into from a perspective that has never known what it is like to be young and hopeful.

She is not a child, yet that is a lie. This war will have an end, but she will not be a part of it.

~~~

There was an invasion in Kusa’s southern most villages a few days back. Most of the battalion’s families live there, and there have been a mass request to attend the funerals. Among them are the bodies of Ikue and Heisuke Kumoochiro.

It didn’t hurt Asuka like she thought it would. These are her parents, she knows they should mean much more to her than they do right now, and she feels bad that she can’t conjure the sadness that Moriko and Rinji seem to hold within. 

If she could take away her siblings pain, she would do it in a heartbeat.

The ceremony begins at noon, bodies begin to pile beyond the large pyre, twigs and figs separating the once living, breathing, bleeding, individuals from each other, bright golden and red flowers hiding their faces from the sky, their arms and legs bound together with silver wool a customized wooden rosary keeping the material tight. Many of the mourners are soldiers, children, those too young to hold themselves up right and those beaten down by war.

Asuka wants to hold the weeping child that stands next to her, begging his battle worn grandfather when mother will come home, when she will bring back imouto.

It’s a small world, here. Standing beside the village, the home she lost at the tender age of too young. Like a moth to a flame, she has wondered back, but at what cost? At what demand did she pay to see these faces, the sweet sickness of rot slowly churning their insides, the breath of life no longer set for eternity.

Asuka hangs on to every word, a bittersweet taste falling between her lips. Moriko and Rinji, broken souls tethered to her, following her, shadowing her. This isn’t right. Her life isn’t right. Her birth isn’t right, but what has she got to do with any of this, what has she got to demand a death that isn’t hers no more?

Dusk comes down quickly, a cold wind rushing down on the village. It bellows between the leaves and the sky bleeds a purplish red. The sun glares just behind the horizon, trees blocking the true glory of it and casting a long shadow over the forlorn living.  
Soon it will be time to light the pyre, there is a restless twinge sits in her chest. She needs to leave, she needs to get out, but she is trapped and there is no home to return to. There is no remains of life here, no more. There is nothing, and the tears breach her eyes for maybe a moment too long. Her lips press down in a thin line, and her heart shudders, hands clamping. It’s too warm out here despite the cool winds. The bustle of the few remains of the village burns her skin, lighting the sorrow in her mind, destroying the only thing she could depend on. 

A haunting cry echoes from the throng of people, slowly and steadily climbing the skies as more people join. A whistle joins, and then a second, rattling of wind chimes are let go to pick up the wind, and there’s a distant howl of the wind joining them in their mourning. A tradition back when massacres like these were a common place when the Land of Grass was nothing more than a tangle of small villages.

Finally, the sun sets low enough the first of the stars begin to twinkle, the deep blue finally succeeding the purple and the orange. There is a bright spark of light in the middle of the pyre, thunderous boom of chakra as the wooden monument lights up; the pyre is finally aflame.

It casts long shadows as it cackles, rising high and higher into the sky, casting its powerful light above and blinding the stars behind. Embers fly from the flames, and the stench of the burning fat quickly sinking into her nose and mouth. This is the time when people begin to leave, holding their faces as the tears fall and the cremation begins to be too much for them.

Asuka stays behind, eyes following her siblings. They are used to this, the mass burning, the melting human fat and flesh. 

The light burns her eyes, it rises and falls, following the wind push and pull. She is enchanted, it pulls her closer, begging her to touch, to feel the flames of life that take what was taken, to become what was lost. Fingers twinge, and a hand rises. She is close… so close…

A much larger hand takes her, and she was so, so close. Tears well up in her eyes, lips curling back, and she sees the blurred image of Inemi, a scowl breaking her face.

“Don’t touch the flames, ‘suka-kun,” she all but snarls, pulling her away from the burning pyre. Her grip is bruising, nails sinking into her skin. “Do not look so hard into something you can’t have, it will do more harm than you think.”

“What do you mean,” Asuka bites back, holding tight, her small knuckles turning white in her attempt to relieve herself of her teacher, “I was doing no such thing.”

Inemi scoffs, “You were dissociating into the fire. Those flames hold more misery and agony than you will ever know, and if I have any say in it it will never be like that. You know the stories, don’t you? The little boy gets eaten up in the funeral fires because he is lost, and the lost will never join the dead because being dead is not being lost. Asuka, you’re not dead, you’re lost, and you need to find your place in this earth before any blade touches that string of life. Please, Asuka-kun, you know you can’t be like this, I know it is tempting but there is more than this war out here, there is more than this death.”

“Train me, then,” she blurts, the words harsh and unfiltered, face burning in shame or adrenaline, “train me, and let me find my way back my own way.”

“Th-That is not-”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“You are six. Go to a park, make friends, stop this fighting, for fucks sake, child. This isn’t a game you can win, this is the real world and real world children make friends.” Inemi barks out, tightening her grip on Asuka’s arm and dragging her away from the all too alluring flames. “You are falling away from your humanity, Asuka-kun, this isn’t right. This war isn’t right. And you’re a child, Asuka, you deserve better than this.”

Asuka scowls, averting her eyes from her teacher to the dancing whorls of embers.

“This isn’t right, and you know it. I know you know it.”

~~~

Their fight is like a dance, smooth and elegant, practiced and well rehearsed. It is an unspoken language of lovers, blades clashing, faces red and sweaty. Moriko loves it here, this peace. She knows her sister has not taken their parents deaths lightly, and neither has she, to be honest, but they knows not to wallow in her sorrow for too long. Both of them know that, it is a race to notice who caves in at this point.

Her opponent, Saamaru, is a small wimp of a boy, but at least he seems to know how to dodge. He was never enlisted, so she should have expected this, but it gives her a bitter taste in her mouth to see a peer older than her to have never seen a fight as brutal as she had.

Moriko thrusts a hand out and Saamaru dodges like a snake, as slippery as a slug, gliding between her fingers. He has potential, but that potential is waste when he can’t see the simple illusion that she conjured up.

His eyes widen, and he twists like one of those girls that the older men in her battalion bring into the bunkers late at night, dodging easily and right into the real Moriko. He slams bodily into her, sending her back with the force of his small weight. It sends her back a good handful of wide steps, but a hand sneaks up behind his neck and the other sneaking the butt end of a kunai into his gut.

He folds over like a lawn chair, face scrunching in pain. He rolls down her fist and Moriko has to hold herself from ending him right there, habit bubbling far too close to the surface for her liking.

He grunts as he hits the ground, “Damn, Moriko-san, that’s quite the fist you’ve got there, haha.”

She lets out a nervous chuckle, reaching a hand to clasp the back of her neck, “Yea yea, that happens.”

Saamaru rolls to a sitting position crossing his legs, “Imma ask a real personal question here, if that’s alright with you.”

She shrugs, releasing her hand from her neck and rolling her head to the side. “Sure, go ahead, I guess.”

“What’s it like to kill a man?”

Moriko blinks. Processing his words. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, fair enough.” He responds. 

She sees the bodies, most of them, the smallest, the biggest. The most memorable. The boy who had the bright red hair like she does, a little girl with the whitest eyes. An ancient man already on his deathbed.

She buries her face in her palms, a headache forming. 

“What’s it like to travel around like that, then? With all of those older people,” Saamaru continues, waving a dismissive hand.

“I- I don’t know.”

She pulls her face out of her hands, smearing away the invisible tears, rubbing at her temples to relieve the building pressure. “It’s all I’ve ever known, for the most part. I don’t remember anything beyond being drafted. I don’t have something to compare anything to.”

Saamaru hums, a thoughtful look blooming in his eyes. “Then what’s it like here, compared to all of that travelling?”

“I wouldn’t call it travelling.” She sits down across from him. “It more of… relocating. Moving from station to station, base to base. The other soldiers are nice, I guess. They can get mean if they don’t notice your potential, especially if you’re as young as we are, my siblings and I.”

“Ohh,” Saamaru gasps, as if surprised, “That reminds me, how old are you? You look pretty small to be a ten year old.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

“We’re not ten,” Moriko states, “We’re six.”

Saamaru tilts his head, “‘We’?”

She nods, “Rinji Asuka and I.”

“Ah, so you’re twins.”

“Triplets now. We used to be four, but Asami’s dead.”

He grimaces, “That’s… rough.”

“Eh, it happens.” She shrugs.

“But still, if I was told my sister was dead I… I don’t know what I would do.”

Again, Moriko has to shrug, her lips pressed into a straight line. “... Yeah…”

Heaving herself back up to stand, she dusts her shorts. “We should get going, the barracks should be serving lunch by now.” She offers a hand for Saamaru, and he gladly takes it.

He grins brightly at her, “What will they be serving for us?”

“Eiichi likes to make meat heavy foods, so he’s probably thrown some pork into the pits, as well as some bacon strips.” Moriko replies, avoiding his eyes as they make way from the fields to the inner part of the village. “We might be getting come veggie soup as well, since we’ve been getting more civilian kitchen volunteers. They usually get upset when they see what we eat on a daily.”

“What do you eat on a daily?”

Moriko shrugs again, the action becoming noticeably repetitive. “The civies call it sludge, slime, crap. Whatever. I don’t know why they call it that, but they do. It’s not like its bad, but, I mean, it’s not like it’s lacking in flavor or anything.”

“That’s kinda interestin’,” he replies, a noticeable limp in his step that Moriko boils down as a ‘hop’. Something that normal children do when they’re excited. She doesn’t understand, it’s just food.

“I guess.”

The first of the villages houses begin to show up, people out in their gardens digging up weeds, watering plants. The central part of the village where the platoon is stationed at is not far from where they are, and there is the stench of civilian chakra hanging on to everything that even she can sense it.

The blunder of bodies draws her attention even closer to the center of it all. Steaming plates of colorful meats and veggies catches her eyes, some people have even been graced with what looks like fresh bread rolls.

Saamaru’s hand reaches out to hers, and she has to hold herself back from snapping a wrist, instead letting him drag her closer to the scattered line of shinobi waiting for their turn at the food. Her eyes spot the glaring orange of one of her siblings hair, far ahead of where she and her friend stand. Moriko can’t tell which one it is, as they still wear their standard issued uniform. The posture is no help, and the three of them all have the same short cut hair and freckled bodies.

The line is fairly long, and it takes them well over half an hour to reach their destination, the kitchen swarming with lovely ladies in aprons and gloves as they hand out plates and bowls, even going as far to take special orders. Further down there is a punch stand, with an older woman manning the station. 

There is little chatter now that the line has greatly shortened, but there is a still good amount of gossip floating about.

“Did you hear about the Uchiha that we captured a few weeks back? I hear that where we stationed him was attacked. Big, bloody thing, Konoha, obviously. Whole bunch of Iwa and Kusa men died, as well as a great majority of the force those leaf bitches sent.” The voice is not loud, by any means, but it was right behind her and Saamaru. “The White Fang was there, too! He literally hauled ass outta there carrying three men, or something, directly ignoring his superiors call for retreat. My brother was there ready to leave for home when the fort was put down in emergency shut down and heard everything.”

The other man scoffs, “Sounds like fable to me. Who the hell sends the White Fang on a retrieval mission in the middle of Sand? They literally have the greatest hate boner for him out of the entire great nations, and that has something to say considering the government has been trying to get his head for the good of the last two and a half decades.”

“Hey man, it’s true! Aomaro can tell you all about it, although I think he might be hiding ‘cause of all of this commotion and whatever, but still. I ain’t lyin’.”

“Yea yea, whatever you say, dumbass.”

~~~

“Here is your food,” Rinji murmurs as he places the tray next to a distracted Harukichi. 

“Thanks, kid,” is his reply, a scalpel in his hands and what looks like an organ on the surgical table. “I’ll be busy for the rest of the day, but tomorrow might be loose enough for me to snatch you away and train. Maybe. I don’t know.”


End file.
